In the year 1,000, Fall was a thing of terror. Hail and rain lashed the bare trees, soaked what passed for Clwyd-Rhan's roads, chilling anyone foolhardy enough to brave the dangers of the forest, which were compounded at this time of year by falling branches. It would have been picturesque if there had been anyone out to take pictures. Toadstools popped up across the forest, punctuating the brown and yellow of the decaying forest with their livid colors.

Around one tree, a circle formed of Boletus Pungentus Foetidus, whose fragrance would soon stifle the dank, chilly air. In some traditions, circles of toadstools are thought to be caused by the unspeakable nocturnal activities of evil witches, and while this is a gross slander on the witching professsion, it is not entirely baseless. A miasma of evil surrounds these mushrooms wherever they raise their pungent little caps, and as a matter of fact, witches avoid them entirely for that reason, arguing that unspeakable nocturnal activities are best carried out with a clean pair of lungs, dry eyes and unblocked sinuses.

Eventually, the air cleared for long enough to allow a small cart to negotiate the sodden forest tracks.